


Most Wanted

by mayachain



Category: X-Men Movieverse
Genre: Alternate Canon, Canon - Movie, Friendship/Love, Homesickness, Other, Road Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-26
Updated: 2007-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-05 10:43:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayachain/pseuds/mayachain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott's advanced math class has a member missing. Someone posts a letter in a local newspaper, which triggers other letters. Then there's silence, a phonecall, a road trip, and more than one prodigal son returning home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gazette Day

**Author's Note:**

> Starts about two weeks after the events at Alkali Lake. It is mostly gen, but there are traces of Bobby/Rogue and Bobby/St John, and, of course, Scott/Jean.

  


* * *

Open letter to Mr and Mrs Drake  
by St.John Allerdyce  
Since I'm the mutant teenager who set fire to your house, you probably remember me. I'm writing to you to remind you of a few facts you need to appreciate the situation.

We were not breaking into your house, we were fleeing to a place your son considered remotely safe from what even the President has admitted was unjustified government persecution. At no point of our visit were you threatened by us. Compared to how my folks reacted when they found out about me, I thought the mutation conversation you had with Bobby was fairly civilized. If you'd just ~~fucking ~~let us wait quietly until Ms.Grey picked us up, nothing would have happened.

So why was the police called? And why did that ~~fucking ~~cop have to shoot Mr.Logan? I had to get us out. What I did was some serious arson, and plenty of cops got burned, but what would have happened to us if I hadn't?

So I wanted to apologize for setting fire to your house. Only not.  


* * *

  
Open letter to the readers of the Boston Gazette  
by William and Madeline Drake  
We would hereby like to declare that we have no idea why our family has been addressed in such a despicable manner. The tragedy that occurred on our front porch was caused by a lunatic fire mutant indulging in his pleasure to destroy, as is the nature of such creatures.

There are not, and have never been, any mutants in our family.  


* * *

  
Open letter to William and Madeline Drake  
by Robert Drake  
Mom, Dad,

I've thought it before, but I never thought I'd actually ever have to say this: You're full of shit. No mutants in your family? Right then. So much for you still loving me. I suppose this means you're not interested in what happened after we left and how I almost died, twice.

I'm not gonna waste the last words I'm ever gonna say to you or Ronnie repeating what John already said. I just ask you to read his letter again, and realize that none of the events leading up to the explosions were his fault. None of it was John's fault.

You hear that, John? So you scared me. Big deal. Like that never happened before. No-one's mad at you, 'cept my parents, and we've already established they're hypocritic idiots and don't count. Come home.  


* * *

  
Open letter to St.John Allerdyce  
John,

Bobby misses you. He doesn't say anything to me, but since you left, he hasn't been the same. It's nothing to do with us being attacked or his parents or Dr.Grey dying. I got enough of you to know that, and I got enough of him. Please come home.

\- Rogue

  


* * *

  
Open letter to St.John Allerdyce  
by Jubilation Lee  
Hey Pyro,

Just so you know, me an' Bobby an' Kit an' Rogue would've come chasin' after you already if it wasn't for the little ones getting hysterical fits if someone so much as leaves to go to the bathroom.

Everyone's a fucking zombie here. If you don't come home, you'll be responsible for me dying of boredom.  


* * *

  
Open letter to St.John Allerdyce  
by Scott Summers  
St John,

I promised you on the day you got here that you would be safe. I am sorry the attack on our school meant I failed to keep that promise. I agree if you find this sounds weak, but I'll repeat to you what I've since promised the other students: Upgraded security, to the very best of our abilities.

St.John, your fellow students need you. If you chose to return, which Ms.Monroe, Professor Xavier and I sincerely hope you will, your room will be waiting.

Regarding your behavior at the Drake's house: There will be lectures. You'll survive lectures. This is still your home.

* * *

  
John,

If I've just phased into the newspaper printing room and clandestinely posted four letters for nothing, I will be mad.

\- Kit

* * *

* * *


	2. Most Wanted, take one

 

  


* * *

  


When the phone rings, Scott is in his office, staring at the desk in the same listless, lifeless way that permeates his every action lately. Shaking himself to regain at least some amount of the professionalism his student's parent's rightfully expect of him, even if faked, he picks up the receiver.

 

"Xavier's School for the Gifted, Scott Summers?"

 

There is a second's pause at the other end, then

 

_"Scott, it's John. I'm in some town in the middle of nowhere. Oak Ridge, North Carolina."_

Another pause, then the sound of someone taking a deep breath. _"Can you come get me?"_

 

  


* * *

  


 

The caller’s identity and the nature of the request is not something Scott’s numbed, grief-stricken mind can instantly process. He hasn't dared hope for this, has watched his students religiously scan the Boston Gazette, watched them hope and wait for this, watched them lose hope one by one as another and then another week came and went. In the almost forgotten non-Jean compartment of his heart, he hasn't expected to ever hear from this particular teen again, has expected the loss of security to be too much to ever give the school as well as Scott himself a second chance.

 

  


* * *

  


 

"Of course," he says after what he hopes has not been a lengthy pause. Slightly bemused at hearing his voice convert to a bleak version of the Cyclops mode both he and most residents of the Mansion presently have deemed irrevocably lost, he asks, "Are you in trouble?"

 

A quiet snort. _"What, is that a condition?"_

 

"No, just inquiring whether I need to take the jet or break any speed laws."

 

There is relief and a trace of humour in the second snort on the other end. "_I'm fine. I'll just sit here by this town square fountain and wait." ___

 

  


* * *

  


 

Left arm already reaching for a map to plan the trip, a sharper note enters Scott’s voice. Though St John's tone has been light, youth and teacher both know a bit too much for comfort about wishing and waiting for things that never happen. "I'll be on the road in eight minutes, John," and he waits for the closest thing to an affirmative sound he's going to get out of his neglected and dispirited advanced maths class' most wanted pyromaniac before he hangs up the phone.

 

When the car leaves the school premises, it's been seven minutes and eighteen seconds.

* * *

* * *


	3. Most Wanted, take two

  


* * *

  
The piece of paper is much too light for this to be actually possible, but he can feel it in the back pocket of his jeans every time he gets up to stretch his feet. If he weren't so adamant about the fact that St John Allerdyce may be many things, but not a hypocrite, the people working at and visiting the small market in front of the Oak Ridge town hall would frequently see him pull out the folded page torn out of the Boston Gazette, would see him read through the words he knows by heart.

Only the distinct feeling of deeming it pathetic beyond measure if someone like, say, Bobby were to do such a thing, continuously arrests his hand.

During the long hours he spends slumped on the most comfortable spot on the broad town square fountain edge, several market vendors, two old women, and one cop come up to him, and only the thought that he's supposed to wait at this very fountain keeps him from running. In varying degrees of obtrusiveness, they all ask

"Whatcha doin' out of school on a Monday, boy," and

"You runnin' away from home?"

Somehow, he manages to deflect even the cop's interest with polite, non-committing phrases without striking a match, without exploding a single cigarette. Stunned eyes following the man's unburned, retreating back, he realizes he's being regarded as a minor disruption to a fairly dull start-of-the-week routine, vaguely but not overly interesting and, although he knows he could change it in a heartbeat, not threatening.

He dozes off a few times, and thus cannot be sure whether he actually told one of the old ladies he isn't in class because he's run away from boarding school, "but my teacher's picking me up, so it's all right."

Around lunchtime, a young clerk watches him while finishing his French fries and hands him his newspaper before sauntering back into the town hall. Distractedly munching an apple imposed on him by an elderly market vendor, St John frowns at mutant-unfriendly headlines and wonders where Mr Lensherr and Mystique are now, what their reactions were when they found Pyro and all the clothes they'd given him gone.

He wonders what they thought of Magneto's purse being emptied of small change, of the short letter he'd left tucked inside, whether they understood what he meant to say by leaving them his shark lighter.

Belatedly, he also wonders how many of the strangers approaching him these past hours have, in fact, been Mystique.

* * *

* * *


	4. Prodigal Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if there's any support for this in comic canon, but judging by Scott's bike at the end of X1, I figured Scott's car would be totally rigged.

* * *

_There's an advanced math class, listlessly stabbing at pieces of cake, morose and teacherless.  
_

_There's a stack of newspapers, piled up on an otherwise abandoned table in a dining hall, getting another day's edition tossed dejectedly on top of it.  
_

_There's a folded page torn out of a newpaper, stuck inside a faded jeans' back pocket._

  


* * *

  


St John is unaware of exactly how long he’s been waiting when the blue car pulls up, but he’s sure that with the 613 mile distance between Salem Center and Oak Ridge, Cyclops must’ve done more than break a few speed limits.

 

The people buying and selling vegetables and meat at the small town square market all turn to stare at the fancy car and the haggard-looking man climbing out of it. St John gets up from his fountain edge spot, glad that this part of the journey is over, if a little apprehensive of his teacher’s welcome. When he actually gets a look at Mr Summers’ face, however, he takes an involuntary step back and has to swallow hard in a futile attempt to hide his shock. 

“You look like shit.”

The market vendors who’ve actually spoken to St John eye Scott warily as he approaches the teen and deflects his words with a hoarse

“Why thank you, tough guy.”

 Taking the few necessary steps towards the boy who against all odds has agreed to be, still, his charge, he is all too aware of all the times Storm and Logan have berated him for not shaving, not eating, not going outside, not sleeping; also aware of the one time Logan threw a fit at Charles for not making him. He knows, and is not proud of the fact, that he’s been going on barely functioning autopilot, worrying the hell out of his friends and scaring the children.

“That your stuff?” he asks, indicating a small backpack, and it’s mostly to avert St John’s attention from stubble, pale and shallow skin, and the dark rings under his eyes, too pronounced to be hidden under ruby quartz glasses.

“Yeah,” St John says, and Scott picks it up.

“Get in,” he says, motioning towards the car that is even now sporting faint, barely visible scorch marks. “Not the passenger seat – seven hours behind the wheel have made me officially unsafe. I brought your license, you drive.”

An incredulous look on his face, St John catches the keys and tries not to wince at the state he put every student's favorite car’s paint job in. Slipping inside, he waits for Scott to fasten his seatbelt, gives a short wave to the surprisingly friendly if inconveniently  curious market people, then turns on the engine and makes to leave the small town, feeling a little dazed, a little shocked, and immensely relieved.

  


* * *

  


The first hundred miles are spent quietly. There are a lot of trucks on the road, so they can't go very fast. As Scott dozes in the passenger seat, St John smirks at the thought that whereas Wolverine compulsively had to do everything by himself on the infamous impromptu trip to Boston, Cyclops has taught Pyro to handle the machinery of the blue car wonder himself - the radio being the very deliberate exception - and thus, trusts him to drive.

After about two hours, Scott wakes up a bit and rummages around the glove compartment for something to eat. While St John waits for an opportunity to overtake a particularly trying, _orange _tractor, the older man consumes a sandwich of questionable date of expiry.

"We've set up cameras around the entrances," Scott says once he's finished wiping his fingers on a handkerchief. "They're connected to screens in the teachers' offices and a section in the TV-room, so that any of you can check them at any time - outside school hours, obviously. We've got Jones watching them at night."

The annoying tractor finally turns left, and St John steps on the gas pedal.

"We're installing new doors at the entrance to the dorms. It took Forge a while to get ready, but it should be done in a week or so. They're similar to those that lead to Cerebro in the basement, but will recognize all the students, staff, and some of the parents."

St John snorts derisively at the 'parent' part, thus confirming to Scott that he's listening - judging by the ferocity with which he doesn't take his eyes off the road in front of them, quite intently at that. Scott hopes that the frequent visits that an admittedly disturbingly small number of family members pay the Mansion, have paid ever since the attack, will eventually convince St John that while rare, it is possible for mutants to fare better than he or Rogue or Bobby did, both in regard to parents as well as siblings.

"We're having weekly meetings discussing ideas for traps some of the children come up with - I'm sure you won't be surprised that your friend Jubilee has proven herself especially devious in that department. We're also stepping up everyone's combative training."

Scott lets the next ten miles pass by in silence, giving St John a second to process what he's said thus far, and maybe even think of what these changes will do to his schedule. Then, he says in a voice that is still quiet but startling in its intensity: "But most importantly, we won't ever split up like that again. Hank has agreed to come when we call him, as has Warren, and two others - a human father and his brother who’ve both been trained in the military. From now on, there will be at least two trained X-Men at the Mansion or wherever you kids go off to at all times, even when Ororo and Logan and I have to leave on a mission."

From the driver's seat, the only response is an increased pressure applied to the gas pedal.

**

Another hour behind the wheel, and St John hasn't commented on anything Scott has told him. He's focusing intently on the road, there's no-one in front of them and he's going really fast now. The fact that he hasn't said anything doesn't mean he hasn't thought about it, though, and it all comes down to this: The account of the school's security improvements only underlines what he already knew last night when he left Mystique and Magneto, what he knew when he picked up the Oak Ridge public phone; if he hadn’t, he'd never made the call. Despite everything, he still trusts Scott, it's one of the reasons he's even here.

Increasing the speed further still, he gives in to another, far less funny memory of the last time he was in this car, recalls the horrible, gut-clenching mix of panic, bewilderment and anxiety. A glance at his teacher sitting calmly in the passenger seat leads to the realization of how different things would have been if Scott had been with them.

Rogue may have trusted Logan, may have had her reasons to trust the Wolverine more than anyone else in the world, but for John and Bobby, it would've been better if Scott had been with them. Scott might not have gone to Boston at all, would've found a way to maintain contact with Piotr; Scott would've contacted Jean faster, and

"You'd have known either not to inflict us on or how to handle Bobby's parents."

Smiling sadly but not answering the statement, Scott waits a beat and then offers, "Kitty and Jubilee have started reading out fairy tales as good night stories for the younger ones. Everyone slept in the dining hall for about a week, your room still looks mostly like it did, though that may also have something to do with Bobby bunking on a mattress with Sam and Pete."

  


* * *

  


After St John has covered about eighty miles in a third of the time permitted by the laws if two different states, they switch places. Scott has chatted on and on about what little of the younger children's antics has penetrated his Jean-induced haze. He's surprised at how aware he's actually been of his surroundings, that while both he and everyone else has thought him nearly completely cut off from the world, he can actually give St John an idea of what to expect once they arrive at the Mansion.

For the last three hours, they've maintained a fairly one-sided dialogue. Scott has yet to ask a single prying question, and it seems pretty clear that he won't, either, so maybe that's why St John starts talking shortly after they've entered Delaware.

"I get that you probably don't like them very much," he says with a hint of belligerence, and Scott knows he's talking about Magneto and Mystique. "And I know why, and I know what they did, way back when to Rogue and now to the Prof and all those humans, but - they saved my life _twice_, and I won't pretend they haven't treated me better these past few weeks than any of my previous so-called families."

Only the index fingers going rigid on the steering wheel betray how much Scott dislikes the notion when he nods his acknowledgement. They cross the border to New Jersey before he ventures "Can I trust you to understand that I – all of us - want you at the Mansion even if I ask you a question?"

St John grits his teeth and stares out of the window. For the first time since pocketing a bic and placing his zippo on the temporary safe house’s kitchen table, he regrets not having a proper lighter. Scott, who is slowing the car down at the sight of a long line of cars blocking the roads on their way to Philadelphia, can barely hear the mumbled "'kay", but it is there.

"If they treated you that much better, why did you leave?"

St John is silent for the entire 45 minutes it takes them to get out of the traffic jam. There are two reasons there, and one of them he can't tell Scott about without a lengthy and tedious explanation. The only person who would get it in the two short sentences he's prepared to say about it is Bobby, who is not here. Both reasons are tightly connected to names and newspapers.

"I've run away from five different places, from people who sometimes started out caring a little but ended up giving a shit about me," he says eventually. A clear picture of the file in his office drawer in his mind, Scott works out that the count includes neither the X-Men nor Magneto. Thirty more miles fly by, and then,

"No-one's ever wanted me back before."

  


* * *

  


_There's a folded page torn out of a newspaper, stuck inside a faded jeans’ back pocket._

_There’s a stack of newspapers, piled up on an otherwise abandoned table in a dining hall,  getting larger by the day because no-one’s had the energy to clean it out yet._

_There’s a blue car, rapidly approaching the state of New York, its headlights a lightning bolt in the darkness.  
_

  


* * *

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in such things, you can view the route of John and Scott's road trip [here](http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&hl=de&geocode=&q=from%3A+oak+ridge,+nc+to%3A+salem+center&sll=40.69535,-73.885115&sspn=0.226463,0.304184&ie=UTF8&t=h&z=6&om=1).


	5. At Long Last, Home

  


* * *

It's almost an hour after midnight , but the fact that it's a school night is unanimously ignored by teachers and students alike. Nearly the whole school is still in the dining hall, except for Scott, whose sudden disappearance is the reason they're not in bed yet, the six youngest children and Professor Xavier. The advanced math class sits clustered around Logan, and everyone is dully watching Jubilee as she half-heartedly deals out cards for the fifth game in a row of games no-one really cares about.

Everyone's eyes turn to Logan as he suddenly cocks his head, hearing something. A not entirely irrational surge of fear runs through the student body, quelled instantly because for all the precautions, it is unlikely that there'll be another attack and even if there were, Logan and Storm are right here to protect them, and Xavier is upstairs, probably not asleep. Still, Kitty lays a hand on Jones' arm as he mutters under his breath, quietly berating himself for abandoning his post for something as trivial as a game and some company.

"Car," Logan grouses, and everyone relaxes, if not entirely. The way he says the word conveys that no, the sound he heard has not been caused by the government, quite the contrary: For better or worse, their wayward teacher has returned to them. He has not, as imagined by Rogue in a hopeless moment earlier today, gone to Alkali Lake to drown himself; he has not even tried to spend the night away from the Mansion. Relieved beyond belief, a few of the students excitedly get up to go meet him, but Logan's arm makes a decisive gesture, effectively stopping them.

Bobby watches Logan frown as he probably hears the car's door slam. He hasn't been this afraid since raid night, and today's been worse in a way because he hadn't actually had time to think back then. But the delighted grin creeping over the elder mutant's face is reassuring, as is the hand thrusting the night's very first beer in Bobby's face for freezing.

"Don't look," Kitty murmurs as soon as enhanced senses are no longer needed to hear Scott's heavy steps approach the dining hall. Bobby's suddenly glad he's sitting with his back to the door, because it means he doesn't have to pretend quite so hard to be interested in the cards he's holding.

  


* * *

Scott barely has time to enter the room before Storm is in his face. "Where were you?" she screeches, and St John instantly ducks behind Scott and backs away a few steps into the corridor again. "How dare you take off like that?", her voice rings in his ears, shrill and loud enough to be heard in the entire Mansion. "How dare you disappear without a word? How dare you not take calls, how _dare _you deactivate the tracking system?"

St John fleetingly thinks of all the jokes he would crack at Scott being chewed out by Ms. Munroe - any other time. As of now, he presses his back against the wall in an angle that gives him a perfect view of the doorway while hopefully having Scott block everyone's view of him.

She's out of breath now, and in the short break she takes to get some air for more screaming, Scott completely throws her off by smiling at her. It's a weak smile, still a far cry from the high wattage he would sometimes direct at people _before_, but from what he's seen of Scott so far and from the way Storm and the students facing the door are staring, St John thinks it has to be the first remotely satisfied expression anyone's seen on Cyclops' face in months.

"I'm sorry," Scott tells the irate woman while she goes all wide-eyed and open-mouthed. "Just took my car for a spin, and - " and Storm frowns in confusion, because Scott's not chagrined at all, he's practically bouncing up and down in excitement - "I had to pick something up."

The students around Logan's table give up their attempts to feign indifference to the adults' conversation as Scott unerringly reaches behind him. St John lets himself be pulled toward the door again, and Scott steps aside. Storm gasps, and Jubilee looses her grip on the deck of cards as soon as she looks up.

"Pyro!", she breathes, before Storm can find her voice again. St John allows Scott to gently push him forward as everyone else's heads swivel around, except for the one St John finds himself staring at. Chairs are knocked over in a general rush, but one in particular does not move.

Bobby's sitting figuratively frozen to his chair, knuckles white around his cards, back absolutely rigid.

Jubilee and Kitty and some other girls he's barely ever spoken to almost throw him off his feet, hugging him, and St John has to look away from Bobby for a second to grin at them. The younger boys scuffle among themselves to be the first to shake his hand, and Sam and Pete pound him on the back in a way that's going to leave bruises.

Rogue's still hanging back at the table, looking at him like she knows something she's wanted all her life and even had for a short time is now ending, but she's smiling at him, and now Bobby's turning around,

cautiously,

hesitantly, looking at St John like he's a miracle, his presence here an act of God he's prayed for and hoped for but never actually _believed _he would get.

Jubilee's started using her fists on his arm, yelling at him for taking so long, but he can barely feel it, and with the voices of his friends fading into the background, St John gives Bobby an equally laden look back.

  


* * *

  
Epilogue

  
Later, much later, when they've all been sent to their rooms hours ago and only now actually conceded to go, when Bobby has retrieved his bedspread, pyjamas and tooth brush from Sam's and Pete's room, they're sitting on St John's bed, not quite touching, idly talking. It's starting to get light again outside when Bobby asks

"So what's the other reason you came back?"

as if he's guessed about the conversation St John had with Scott in the car, as if he knows - and he should know, _does _know - that John's only back in the first place because they _asked_. As if he knows, which he most likely also does, that St John had needed another reason to _leave_, because he would've been back weeks ago otherwise.

St John is silent for a long moment. He's tired, feels like he could sleep for a month, but he wants to explain to Bobby so that they never have to talk about it again.

Two short sentences. Well, maybe four.

"You know that list of names they printed, of all the people that got killed? Magneto kept it, for some reason. We were in a safe house a few miles away from Oak Ridge, and I read it, just because I could. ...One of them was called Anna."

Bobby nods, and lies down on the bed without comment.

* * *

* * *


	6. Second Reason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This addition was written at the request of the readers at [dry_ice](http://community.livejournal.com/dry_ice/), who asked me to spell out what Bobby knew. There is angst.

  


* * *

_The first time it happens, a sudden current of heat goes through his veins and _something _explodes a tealight in a thankfully parent-free living room, and he is a hysterical eleven-year-old screaming for Anna._

Of the many subjects in St John Allerdyce's past he allows nobody to touch, this is the one he guards the most. The Professor tries a few times, but the teen goes colder than his new roommate in full ice mode, blank-faced, his mind a maelstrom of dark threats that lets the telepath probe no deeper than the surface.

_She is the one who spends hours and loads of pocket-money in the net-café down the street, who finds an explanation. She is not afraid. She is curious, and once she has told him what he is, she runs to find a matchbook and hands it over with only a slight admonition to be careful._

He subconsciously decides to make friends with Bobby because he's like Anna, cheerful and responsible and, up to the point where it's better to be careful, always willing to believe the best of everyone.

_When she dies, she is terrified, but her look tells him _Run, Squirrel _and she loves him and she is not afraid._

Uncomfortably perched on the couch at the Drake's, nervous energy running through him, senses on edge, he watches the parents. Maybe it's his fault, that Bobby doesn't think Ronnie will be a problem.

_When he wants to tell their parents, she advises against it, but he doesn't believe ill of his mom, isn't even really that concerned about her dad. She sits silently supportive beside him the whole time while he stutters and finally lights a match. Until the day he dies, he wishes he'd done the demonstration bit while she was out of the house._

His worst nightmares are neither of uncontrollable flames, nor of days wandering the streets between social services and foster families. The most haunting nightmare he ever has while staying at the Mansion has her yelling at him to hurry up, climbing a tree ahead of him, a huge smile on her face.

_After, he learns to use his power to defend himself, refusing to curl up and die, unwilling to let any human hurt him or his friends because she wants him to live, no matter what her father says._

As far as St John's powers go, the Iceman is virtually immune, no matter how far they push each other in the Danger Room. Bobby is the only one who knows, the only one he eventually tells.

_Everyone who meets St John automatically assumes he grew up an only child. And they are right, if you consider the first nine years of his life. But from that cold day in February when his mother inflicts him with a stepfather till everything falls apart in flames one day in June, for those two year he has an older sister._

Alone in a temporary safe house's kitchen, he is an arrogant mutant teenager skimming through the New York Times' list of the dead, regarding the listed human victims, detached and not a little smug.

His eyes glue themselves to four letters arranged in a familiar way in the middle section of the page.

He is seventeen and eleven all at once and he knows he cannot possibly stay with someone whose actions killed another person with that name.

* * *

* * *


End file.
